Eight days a week

I have been here eight days now. You may ask yourself, what in the hell is that girl doing in that room all day? (Actually I know you are not asking that, but humor me so I have something to write about)

In the time I have been here, I have:

• Read six books


• Eaten 22 meals


• Had my temperature taken 31 times


• Had blood taken twice


• Slept 49 hours

There are of course numerous numerous other fun and exciting things. But when I sit here and look at that list, it is like I have accomplished nothing at all. Only 49 hours of sleep? That's nothing.

The fact I actually had the time to calculate that list is also sad.

I really need a hobby.

Yesterday I got to go outside for a whole 20 minutes. It was about 70 degrees so my mom wheeled me out and I sat in the sun for a bit. Coming back inside was depressing. I felt I was seeing the light for the final time. I am pathetic.

Today I have nothing to be snarky about. What a crappy post. I will make up for it on Monday, since I will have an ultrasound and will have something to actually report on.

However, my doctor is on vacation next week -- the lucky bastard is going to Jamaica -- so there is not even a twinkling glimmer of hope that I could maybe possibly go home. Not that there is anyway, but you never know.